


Of Lies and Truths

by crickets



Series: Names and Curses [6]
Category: Lost
Genre: Incest, Multi, jawyercita, mmf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-19
Updated: 2007-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crickets/pseuds/crickets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(five secrets claire keeps.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Lies and Truths

**Author's Note:**

> [Original post.](http://crickets.livejournal.com/56400.html)

**1.  
He can’t lie to her.**

She hears him outside the room that night. He waits until he thinks they’re both asleep, slips under the covers, and wraps his arms around her. His hands feel warm, but cold too, and he smells like girl, _cheap_ girl.

She turns, startles him, presses her mouth to his, slips her fingers beneath his t-shirt. He even tastes different. She pulls back, lips wet, and holds his gaze. His eyes are rounder, softer, exhaustion and guilt and bad liquor peering back at her.

_Was she pretty, at least?_ The words come without intention, but they do come.

_Claire._ His voice is small. It gives him away.

_You can’t lie to me, Jack._ And he knows it’s true.

_Yeah. She was pretty,_ he admits.

_Good,_ she says, and turns away, finds Sawyer warm and still sleeping, and curls closer to him. He comforts her, even in his slumber. _I’m glad._

**2.  
She hears Portland is nice.**

Two weeks on the road, and he won’t touch her, barely looks at her. She aches with the memory of him inside her, kisses him in the doorway when they’re close, but he doesn’t kiss back.

_Not yet, girl,_ he says. _Not yet._

So she buys a bus ticket, because maybe this can only work with three, maybe Jack was the only thing that made them _them,_ and maybe all those nights alone together were just killing time. But it didn’t feel like it, never felt like it.

They’re at a diner in the desert. It’s raining. She’s walking to the door and he’s paying the bill. _Hey,_ he says, grabs her hand, pulls her close. _How ‘bout California? You and me?_

She nods, kisses him, and this time he lets her, and it’s been far too long. And when it’s over, they’re both breathless. _You and me._

Outside, a hitchhiker, wet from the storm, takes shelter under the overhang, propped up on his packs. She holds the ticket out to him. _Portland,_ is all she says. _I hear it’s nice._

**3.  
She forgives him first.**

They never ask why he stayed behind; never ask why he looks like he does or where his bruises came from. It doesn’t matter, so long as he’s here now.

She stays with Sawyer, keeps quiet, comes in silent shudders, while Jack sleeps alone.

_Will it ever be normal again?_ she asks one night. He’s on top of her, still inside, soft, but neither of them wants to move.

_Was it ever?_ – the truth they never talk about.

She finds Jack in the bathroom one afternoon, clippers in hand, and takes them from him. _Don’t,_ she says, and reaches up to his short locks. It’s grown. _I like it._

He presses his forehead to hers, finds her mouth for the first time since he’s been back, and she opens herself to him, warm and wet and pulling him closer, deeper. _I’m sorry,_ he breathes, fingering the hem of her shirt and pulling it up.

_I know,_ she says, his lips grazing her neck, rough hands finding their familiar place on her skin, _I know._

**4.  
Everything else is ruined now.**

_No,_ she says, when it’s the three of them again, wedges herself between them. _I want you this way._ She doesn’t have to wait for them to answer, feels their response against her thigh and ass.

They’ve never been particularly gentle with her, but that is one thing they never asked her for, and wouldn’t take on assumptions.

She comes first, driven over the edge by the feel of them rubbing together through the thin membrane that separates their cocks. _Fuck,_ she cries, falls limp between them.

Sawyer reaches around to her middle, fingers her clit until she’s wound up again. This time she comes quietly, but just as hard, biting her lip to muffle the sound, as they spill themselves inside of her.

_Christ,_ she breathes, sweaty and slick between them, feels their fucked-out smiles against her skin. _Everything else is ruined now._

**5\.   
They can still get lost here.**

California lasts a year, and for once they’re tired of the sun.

Jack finds work in New York. It’s winter, and snowing, and the tree in Rockefeller Center calls to her. She begs the boys to take her, but they’re tired from the drive and wrapped up in each other, so she goes alone.

_Claire!_ A familiar voice calls on the street.

_Rose?_ She turns to see Rose, with Bernard close behind.

_See, honey? I **told** you it was Claire._

_What are you doing here?_

_Lived here all my life!_ Rose says, in her usual matter-of-fact way. _Where else would I be?_

They show her the city, buy her lunch, and take her to the center. It’s smaller than it looks in the movies. And when Rose asks questions, she lies.

_Visiting,_ she says. And, _No,_ she hasn’t heard from any of the survivors, _not in a long time._ She says these words, tries not to think of the truth, Jack and Sawyer, together on the couch, their hands and mouths on her skin. Rose smiles, that look of amused distrust in her eyes.

_It’s a big city,_ Claire tells herself walking home in the snow. _We can still get lost here._


End file.
